I followed the two ladies into a receiving room where everything was even more opulent than the rest of the house. The walls were cream, the carved plaster moldings were white, and the grass-green drapes were trimmed with gold-thread tassels. The furniture was in a pink-rose velvet, and the wood was gilt while exotic rugs from Perino weavers covered the floor.
It all gave me the feeling of walking into a very high-end box of sweets.
The art was less sugary. Landscape paintings showed castles and manor houses with expansive views. Painted lords and ladies a-plenty frowned down at me with suitable severity. Hopefully, there was a secret room where the more humorous family members resided.
In a bay window, instead of a seating arrangement, there was a five-foot bronze statue of a man trying to bridle a willful stallion. The man and the horse looked equally determined to get their own way, and their facial expressions immediately made me think of the duke.
The Duchesse silently pointed at a seat across from her own chair. As I took it, she arranged the handle of her parasol to lie across the crook of her elbow; the pose was one of a queen on her throne holding a scepter.
“Madeline, bring us tea, and close the door.”
She addressed a servant who had followed us. She now left, and the footman standing in the hall closed the doors. Instinctively, I looked to the window, calculating distance. We were on the ground floor, so escape was possible.
“It is my understanding you are a guest of my son,” said the Duchesse de Chambaux. I made my features blank as she continued. “Chalamet. I have heard that name. Ah. Yes. A jeweler. I haven’t heard of him lately. He must have gone out of fashion.”
Archambeau’s sister, Lady Valentina Fontaine, didn’t meet my eyes, but toyed with a small book she picked up from a side table. Considering the title was about planetary movements and she was holding it upside down, I think it was safe to judge she had no interest in astronomy.
“Stop fiddling, Valentina. A lady’s mind should be in charge of her body at all times. It is what sets us apart from the lower order of grocer, dressmaker, and merchant.”
I think my pleasant face froze around the edges, but I survived; a frost only kills tender plants.
A door opened on the wall, revealing a disguised second entrance behind a painting of some military dignitary of the last century. The painting’s frame cleverly hid the seam. After Madeline rolled the tea cart to the side of Lady Fontaine, the duke’s sister dismissed her. She left by the same entrance, pulling the painting back into place.
Lady Fontaine poured out a cup for her mother and set it within easy reach of the duchesse on a small black table, lines of gold paint bringing out the details of the fluted legs. She ignored it.
“Are you married?” the duchesse asked me.
“No, Your Grace,” I replied, and she grimaced.
“I cannot believe—” she began, but with that control that only ladies of quality have over their bodies, the duchesse stopped herself. “You must be here because of my son’s work. There is no other reason Tristan would involve himself with a Ghost Talker. We do not concern ourselves with such ghoulish people.”
I said, keeping my voice level with effort, “Yes, I am here because of a matter Mysir de Archambeau is investigating. I have been told not to discuss it, so if you wish to know more, you shall need to ask him to explain.”
After a silent stare and a small sip of her tea, she said, “Today, I was told you conducted a Ghost Hunt last night in this very house. Only the lower classes resort to such vulgar entertainments. I do not hold with the Morpheus Society or their blasphemous doings.”
I couldn’t stop myself. After all, I hailed from the lower orders and thus lacked regulation. “Lady Baudelaire requested it.”
If you really watch the face, it reveals much. The fine line of her nostrils flared as she took a deep breath and under her rouge, her skin grew white with fury.
“Lady Baudelaire is under the mistaken impression that her acquaintance with my son’s late wife has given her some right to command at Hartwood House. The next time she pays a call here, Valentina, send her to me. I will correct this misapprehension of hers.”
“I’m sure she didn’t mean to overstep, Mother. She’s known us since we were children—”
The duchesse halted her daughter with a glance that cut. “You are naïve, Valentina. She is using you.”
“But I thought— I only invited her because I thought you favored her?”
“Once, perhaps, but Tristan will have none of it, so her schemes will never bear fruit.” Realizing she was discussing family matters in front of a stranger, she returned to her original grievance. “Having a Ghost Hunt in this home is a dangerous activity. There are ancient, restless spirits here that are not to be trifled with.”
“Like the cellar girl, murdered by her lover? Or the Noise Ghost in the study who hates women?”
“Not to be trifled with.” The duchesse repeated firmly. “Such things are best left alone, undisturbed.” She clicked her cup into its saucer and set it aside. “We’ve had enough interference from your kind. Another Ghost Talker tried her tricks here, but I saw through her. I sent her packing and now the newspapers finally proclaim that Madame Nyght woman to be exactly what I knew she was all along— a liar.”
“The Morpheus Society does not endorse her.”
“Endorsed by them? A group that plays upon the grief of families in order to earn their coin?” The duchesse’s words dripped with acid. “Frauds and tricksters, the lot of you. Well, Madame Chalamet, you will gain no money from me for your trouble.”
This was probably my cue to storm out of the room. I stubbornly stayed where I was, for no one had offered me tea. The silence stretched on and Lady Valentina’s fingers fiddled again with the cover of the book resting in her lap.
The Duchesse de Chambaux broke it first. She stood and taking her parasol handle in her right hand, tapped its tip against the rich carpet.
“It is time for my walk,” she announced before leaving, with Lady Valentina hurrying afterward.
Alone in the room, I poured a cup for myself. Finding it cold, I set it aside and walked over to examine the false wall.
Once you knew what to look for, it was easy. There was an indent for your fingers, and a button under the edge of the picture frame to push, to release the locking mechanism. Opening it, I peered into a corridor, but hearing someone coming, quickly closed it.
It was Jacques. How well he looked in his military dress uniform of scarlet and black.
“Elinor! How did you fare with the old dragon?”
“Only slightly scorched. But tell me of the duke. Is he well?”
“Nicked some flesh, but from the healthy quantity of complaining about my help, I think he will recover just fine. He’s with Axe now. That’s the nickname for the commander, for he can quickly chop you down to size.”
He tucked my hand under his arm and returned me to the seat I had abandoned. Pulling up a chair close to me, he laid his arm along the back of my chair. “We didn’t have time to talk last night, but now we can have a cozy chat. What a strange place to find you, hobnobbing with the aristo set! Why ever are you here?”
“I am working with His Grace on a case.”
“About his wife, the fair Minette?”
“No.”
He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head. “Truth?”
“Of course, Jacques, I wouldn’t lie to my childhood friend.”
“Once I would have said no, but after your father’s death, you ran off to the Society, and I’ve seldom seen you since.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you. But discussing a client’s business would be a breach of confidentiality. You don’t tell me military secrets.”
“Point taken.” He leaned closer and spoke in a hushed voice, “I advise you to be careful with mysir de duke. Get this business done and leave. He’s not a safe man to know.”
“Oh, Jacques, stop being melodramatic.”
He put his hand on my shoulder and gave me a gentle shake.
“Elinor, please listen. Archambeau swims in deep waters. He will come up from the deep and gobble you down, like a mythical sea monster.”
He was being overprotective and, as he had pointed out, we hadn’t seen each other for some time. Since I was curious and he seemed to know, I asked, “People keep mentioning his dead wife to me. Why?”
His hand came up my back and played with the feather on my hat. “I knew her the year she came out. Gorgeous thing. Heads above the other girls who were being presented at the time. I’m not sure anyone has come after that has surpassed her in beauty or wit.”
“Don’t tell me you courted her?” I asked, surprised at him crossing societal class lines.
His smile grew a little sly. “Now, that would be tales out of school.” Jacques became lost in the past as he reminisced. “That was a special year for me— the year I earned my bars.”
“I remember thinking how dashing you looked in your new uniform.”
He grinned. “Well, Minette was also dazzling, both men and quite a few ladies. Clothes, jewelry, horses, parties— anything she put her hand to sparkled brighter and better than anything else. She was in demand everywhere. At the end of the season, though, she gave the biggest surprise of all.”
“How so?”
“She married Mysir de Duke de Chambaux. It flummoxed us all. She could have had anyone, far wealthier, but she picks a man whose estate is in the farthest corner of Sarnesse, far away from the glitter of the city? Nor had she paid him any special attention before the announcement. No one could figure out the attraction— they were as different as chalk and cheese. Their union made little sense.”
“Perhaps it was an arranged marriage?”
“Who told you that?”
“Someone.”
“That could explain things I never understood. Soon after the grand wedding, she looked very unhappy and within months, there were rumors of lovers. Some of their arguments were very public and nasty. When she got sick, people blamed him because they didn't feel he took care of her. You really shouldn't stay here.”
“Why? What does that have to do with now?”
“His wife’s a haunt. People have seen her here— I’ve seen her! And she’s dangerous. She’s still jealous— women get pinched, slapped, jewelry mislaid, and she pushed one poor soul down the stairs. The woman survived, only breaking her arm, but no one stays overnight at this house except his mother and sister.”
“Thanks for the warning, but I’ve seen nothing so far, and I know what to do if she appears.”
“I’m serious, Elinor. You need to get out of here. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
I shook my head. “Forget it. This is exactly the type of ghost I would love to meet. Now, changing subjects, tell me why are you and your general here?”
“Organizing the royal procession and the public treaty signing between the king and the Perino delegation. After they sign, there will be a huge banquet, a ball, and handing out some medals. It’s simple work and I’m glad. Last time, we met Perino on some hill surrounded by a swamp where it rained the entire week.”
“Sounds very unpleasant.”
“Swamps usually are. Lots of biting insects the size of your hand. And mud. Talk about the mud! The damp gets into your kit, making everything mildew, while your horse’s hooves rot away.”
“It sounds far more fun to host them in our lovely city.”
“It would be, but there’s always a fly in the ointment, and this time it is those damn student protesters. Blocking entrances, shouting non-stop outside of hotels where you just want to sleep. Don’t they have classes to attend?”
“Maybe if the university had proper funding, they wouldn’t protest.”
“Oh, you little rebel. Ready to wave a sign and stop one of our patrols, huh? Well, the royal family is an easy target. King Guénard is such a fat fool.”
“Who is a fat fool?” asked the round man who had just entered the room.
Jacques jumped to his feet and bowed to the king of Sarnesse while I sunk into a courtesy.